Noblesse Oblige
by Brokenx3Dreams
Summary: When Rukia finds Ichigo, he is a man without a past. They find themselves paired up within the Noblesse Oblige, a highly prestigious warrior class within Seireitei. Will they be able to save the village when a great evil befalls it? IxR
1. Chapter 1: Homecoming

A/N: My first full-length fanfic. I hope you guys enjoy it! I'm not very good at writing long stories :|

* * *

1

The air was insipid and hot. The sun smoldered and burned white-hot rings in a thin, watercolor sky. A dry wind rattled through the trees, stifling the air further with dust.

Inside Second Division, Rukia watched Soi Fon heat a vial of milky liquid, the smoke spiraling about in silver arabesques. Soi Fon scowled; the red eye of her cigar flaring as she took another hit.

The small woman leaned her face into the bitter fragrance and breathed deeply.

Rukia leaned away from the foul smoke. They were sitting cross-legged on a cobalt afghan blanket. Her mentor, in her restlessness, began flicking her lighter, making the flame appear and disappear, then reappear again. There was a silence filled by the clicking of the lighter and the quiet murmur of the boiling potion.

Soi Fon tilted her head to glare at the underside of the glass vial.

"Someone screwed with my nitrates again!"she declared hotly.

She jerked the vial, held precariously with the nails of her thumb and forefinger, toward Rukia.

"Look! The powder isn't even settling. We can't use this potion for shit!"

Soi Fon leaned past Rukia and pitched the vial's contents into a clay pot. The liquid sizzled and spat.

"Damn hot day, too!" she sighed in exasperation.

"Would you like some water?" Rukia asked quietly.

"It's fine." Soi Fon wiped her brow. Her grey eyes were dangerous. "Take a break. I'm going to go find out who messed around this shop."

She tucked her legs underneath her and stood up.

Her loose, black robe clung to her skin.

"Damn hot day," she muttered, pushing her way out of the door.

When she was gone, Rukia coughed and fanned the remaining cigar smoke away from her face.

She fed woodchips into the small fire and stood up. She could feel sweat trickling down her body. She hated hot days like this. _These are the dog days_, Ukitake had said when they sat on his porch, sweating even in the shade.

Further in the shop, past shelves of books and folders of curling parchment, Rukia located the cupboard.

She pulled out a chipped, porcelain bowl, the one with dancing elephants. On the bottom were scriptures. "Imported from Bala," Soi Fon answered when Rukia had asked her what it meant.

"Good luck and fortune. Believe it, if you want." Rukia filled it with water from the terracotta jug. She held the bowl with two hands, sipping slowly. Her motions were careful. Delicate. Trying to draw out the good luck.

* * *

Outside, the cobblestones of the streets were hot underneath her _warajis_*.

Street venders called to those passing by, clanging pots and pans and ringing bells. The cement walls, in all their falling glory and running tendrils of ivy, echoed with the sounds of children at play.

Rukia paused to buy a cheap fan, the kind that was imitation sandalwood and rice paper. The print was nice, Rukia admitted, looking at the staccato brushstrokes of bamboo leaves and primroses.

She clicked it open and fanned herself as she walked around stalls and people. Small children tugged at her sleeves, asking her if she would like some fruit they were selling.

She stopped by the blind mandolin player; dropped a few yen into his wrinkled palm and gave him some slices of mango. Told him what she dreamed about yesterday. He played her a song. Rukia listened.

Then she remembered Soi Fon and went back the way she came, weaving through the throngs of people.

She passed by Kyoraku, who was sitting drunk on the porch of his shop.

"Hello there!"

She bowed.

"Captain Kyoraku!"

"You lookin' good today! What you been up to?"

"Helping Captain Soi Fon with her work."

"Is it hard work?"

"Nothing I can't handle."

"That's mighty good! You run along and tell her she's doin' a fine job wit' ya."

"Sure thing,"

"A fine job, I say!"

He paused to sip at his flask. Then the man promptly slumped against the wooden slats, sound asleep. Rukia smiled softly and went along her way.

* * *

Soi Fon had a mortar and pestle out when Rukia returned.

It was a tortoise shell, painted with bright-eyed finches and blooming lotuses.

She handed it to her apprentice. Rukia looked at the rusty powder, wrinkling her nose.

"Do we really have to use cuprous nitrite?"

"Yeah. Suck it up."

"But it smells bad."

"So?" Soi Fon lit another cigar, holding it like a paintbrush and drawing silvery dragons in the air, "Nothing like a good smoke to cover up the scent."

Rukia rolled her eyes. She emptied the powder onto a small square of parchment. Folding and angling the paper, she tapped the mixture into a vial of water. She handed it to Soi Fon, then pulled her sleeve over her nose.

"Tch, pansy," Soi Fon scoffed, heating the vial with her right hand, taking a drag of the cigar with the other.

Her fingers were bright with thick, jeweled rings. People would glance at her jewelry; at the bronze hoops in her ears, the waterfall of silver chains around her neck. Her hair in wispy layers—the anarchy of her braids. The glint of her steel and blood eyes. _Blood and thunder. _They asked her if she came from the coast of Arrancar. "Fuck you," she always said to them.

"It's done."

"So soon?"

"Take a look."

The woman slipped the vial into a secure, iron ring-stand. With one of her long nails, she pointed at the tell-tale signs of completion.

"See that yellow precipitate? We're gonna take that out—it means the nitrogen and copper has combined perfectly. Then we're grinding it up and giving it to old man Yamamoto. He came around here talking 'bout backache."

"Shouldn't Captain Unohana take care of that?"

"She would normally, but he's a special case."

"Is that so?"

"Yeah. Now stop yapping and help me clean up the shop. We spent almost all day trying to do this. I have other things to do, you know? Hell. Matsumoto wanted me to go drink with her today."

"Are you going to?"

"No. Too much paperwork to file. All the potions we've sold last month; something like that. You go! Have some fun."

"No, I don't really—"

"Loosen up, Kuchiki!" Soi Fon leaned in close to Rukia, blowing smoke in her face. Rukia turned away, coughing. "You should try this stuff more often! It's bloody awesome."

"But Nii-sam—I mean, Byakuya would kill me!"

"To hell with that noble! He's a dog, just like the rest of us. Society is shit. Hierarchy is shit. What your brother says is shit. I'm pretty sure _he's_ full of shit. Now put out the fire, file some potions and then go enjoy yourself."

Soi Fon tucked her hands on her waist, sipping at her cigar like an aristocrat. Frills and revolution. She lit an oil lamp with the glowing, red tip.

A knock sounded on the solid oak door.

"Coming!" she called. She stepped over the afghan, bare feet elegant and dancer on the bamboo floor.

Rukia picked up a stack of creamy envelopes tied with a thin, crimson ribbon. She pulled out and sifted through receipts, scrutinizing the tiny print in the dwindling sunlight.

"Rukia, it's for you!"

That was a curious case.

No-one dropped by to see the young woman often.

On the rarest occasions, it was her brother. Rukia dropped the papers, stepping around books and pots and a manner of alchemy paraphernalia.

The man standing in the doorway exuded dark handsomeness and vitality. He wore a black _kosode*_ dirty from miles spent on the road and _hakamas_* of likewise color and condition. When he spoke, it was wind and sky, taking flight from the earth.

"Rukia."

Her eyes widened, glittering like wet amethyst jewels. They were filled with electric hues of shock and excitement.

"Kaien!"

* * *

warajis* - straw sandals

kosode* - black robe that can be worn as an undergarment and an overgarment with a kimono. Think of the Shinigami uniform.


	2. Chapter 2: Where the Sun Shines

A/N: Not really satisfied with the chapter, but I gave it the best I had. Severe writer's block + week of school testing = a melted brain. Anyways, I know this is a Rukia x Kaien chapter, but never fear! Ichi x Ruki is my OTP and there will be plenty of OTP goodness to come! :) Please review! Let me know what you think!

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2

The field was a vivacious green. The great expanse of the china-blue sky stretched overhead, broken only by the jagged teeth of mountainous horizons.

Clouds trailed their milky fingers in the wind, which blew in cool and violet from the North. Silky, singing springtime. Rukia closed her eyes and listened to Kaien as they walked through the long grass.

The emerald blades gently curled and tugged at her bare legs; she was wearing her best kimono. The one the color of shaved green tea ice and had poinsettia blossoms falling all over like snowflakes. It has been a long while since she has worn this kimono. Last time she had worn it, she was holding Hisana's hand, trying to memorize the map and texture of her fingers. And then there was now. She saved it for these moments; for people that made her feel a whirlwind of happy and sad inside.

"…So I told him to get behind me, right?"

She nodded, trying not to stare at his bright smile. He lit up the path as they walked; made the sunshine dance and twinkle like gold coins being tossed high in the air.

"He's an idiot. Whatever—best swordsman I've got in my squad, so I guess I should be grateful."

Rukia felt sick, light-headed almost. But it was to be expected, like seeing the sun in the desert. Being near Kaien was dangerous. He always made her blood too thin…made her head throb…blurred her vision. He was story-time at Soi Fon's; all dancing lights and strange voices with their hypnotic cadences. As exotic as tarot cards, with their grease stains and argyle-patterned backs.

Like diamondback snakes.

The copperhead.

The rattler.

"Oi, you okay?"

"Y-yeah."

"You don't look so good."

Kaien Shiba stopped and frowned at Rukia. "'Fess up, Kuchiki. What you got goin' on in your pretty lil' head?"

"N-nothing!"

"Nonsense!"

His calloused palm landed squarely on the crown of Rukia's head; she squeaked in surprise. He laughed at the sound, grinning down to her, "Then lighten up! It's a wonderful day out, t'day!"

Rukia nodded, her gaze on her sandaled toes.

"What? I can't hear you!"

"Yes, Kaien-sama!"

"That's better!" His hand left her head; Rukia fought the urge to pout. She linked her arms tightly together as she and Kaien continued on. She very much wanted his hand on her again. Her skin tingled as a light wind passed her by. The field took on a sharp incline. All around them, small yellow and red flowers smiled and bobbed in the whispering breeze.

"Rukia, do you know what they say about the life?"

They had stopped. Rukia shook her head, forcing a calm she didn't feel. She tried to quiet the sparks in her veins; she loved it when he talked like this to her. She wanted everything in his head, every little thought and unprocessed nonsense. She wanted to eat his soul and digest it, let him sink into her bones and become her marrow.

"They say there are two types of battles: A fight to protect life, and a fight to protect honor." Kaien knelt slowly, sinking his finger into the fine silt of the soil.

He held up a palmful of the warm, dark-brown earth.

"This was my former captain's policy. But you know—" He let the soil trickle through his fingers, "I think both of those end up being about the same thing in the end; heart." The fist flicked the rest of the earth away; clenched. Lay outstretched over his heart.

"Where do you think the heart lies? The way I think is that, _this_ is where the heart is." Kaien rose, walking towards Rukia. Stunned into silence, she let him approach, her breath catching in her throat.

He clasped her delicate hands in his. She noted the silvery sheen of calluses on his palm. They stood for a while, listening to the wind whisper through the trees and the grass. Then, Kaien began again, in a low voice that made Rukia tremble despite the warmth of her hands in his and the blazing sun overhead.

"Every time you and I connect with each other, a little bit of heart is born between us. Heart is not something inside of you."

She nodded, remembering the pang of loneliness and emptiness from her childhood. Lingering and dragging; abandonment and disappointment time after time again. Foster family after foster family. Where had her heart been?

"But whenever you think, whenever you remember someone, that is when heart is born. If you were the only one alive in this world, heart wouldn't exist, now would it?"

He released her hands. She felt like crying.

"There's no reason to worry." He tilted her chin up so that she met his gaze. His warm, dove-grey eyes made her feel like she was swathed in silk gauze. She felt cotton in her joints; felt like she swallowed sand.

"If you truly want to be here from the bottom of your heart, then your heart is definitely here. And if your heart is here, then that's 'the reason for you to be here.'"

He smiled, releasing his gentle hold on her chin. His fingers swept downward to rest easily on the hilt of his sword.

"Whenever you fight from this point on, there is one thing you must never do, and that is—"

A strong wind tore through the field, tousling their hairs wildly and flattening the field grass. Kaien turned to survey the sky, cutting a heroic silhouette against the backdrop of the blazing sky and dancing treetops.

He turned back, making sure he and Rukia were maintaining a level gaze. "Kuchiki. Never die alone." His eyelids closed. She felt like the sun had gone out. Then, they re-opened, their full vivacity and warmth full upon her.

"Our bodies are composed entirely from spirit." He raised his arm in demonstration; a wind tossed up his sleeve dramatically.

"When we die, our bodies disintegrate, and when that time comes, where will your heart go? Your heart will be passed on to your friends. And if you pass it on to your friends, then your heart will always live on within them. Remember this, Rukia Kuchiki. Recite it with your last breath."

Rukia felt the tears coming. Damn it all. He was still watching. _How does he do this? _He always knew the right things to say. He was always in the right place at the right time. _God, why is he so perfect?_ Her heart ached, her body felt weak. She trembled--felt the weight of her past.

_Kaien._

She rushed to him then, her feet carrying her into his arms. She wrapped herself around his waist, clutching frantically, dissolving into sobs. The sounds felt as if they were being torn out of her body; being wrung out of her lungs. It was as if every drop of poison in her veins was surfacing, making her writhe and scream in pain.

And the burden on her heart, which prevented beauty from touching her, pressed down on her, even then. It made her long for his touch, something to alleviate the lonliness.

She needed human contact. Rukia remembered an afternoon with Ukitake in the library; "Human contact is as vital to human beings as sunshine is to plants. We flourish in it. We bask in it. We let it warm our skin all the way down to our bones. It is the essence of life; the essence of love. It's the dawn of the new day; the curtain closing on the great tragedies of the world. What will you do if you ever lose that contact? What _can_ you do?"

"I don't know," she whispered, imagining the soft, sad smile of the white-haired man. His eyes like horse eyes, big, unblinking and liquid.

"Rukia?"

"Don't worry," she breathed, her tears dampening his kosode.

He rested his cheek against her hair; together, they felt the wind pick up and carry them away.

* * *

At the top of the hill, there are clusters of sweet-smelling lavender. They sway gently like little fairies, speckled and festooned with streamers of golden sunlight filtering in from the foliage of the sakura tree above.

The sun, in its rising and setting, sets the cherry blossom petals alight in a fierce, amber glow.

The polished, marble, tombstone directly beneath the majestic tree is marked with the name MIYAKO in kanji that looks like running horses and sea breezes.

Rukia knows they are near the grave when Kaien's eyes begin to mist over with nostalgia. It always happens this way, and she can't stand it. Every time, she wanted to capture him, grab his sleeve; slip him like a bead into the center of a dream-catcher. He was always so far away from her, one moment so real that she could drown in his essence, the next, staring into nothingness.

He was the wind, wild and unrestrained. She heard somewhere that people cried into the wind—even though they knew their prayers and tears were ultimately lost in the immense tapestry of the ethereal.

"Miyako."

They stood in front of the grave.

"How have you been?"

Rukia felt her stomach clench. Something inside of her hurt. His voice was so soft and low.

"It's a beautiful day…not as beautiful as you, though."

She watched the sun flicker over his hooded eyelids. These eyes filled with grief and loneliness.

"Ha! You probably would've laughed at me for that line…I was always tongue-tied around you. I guess I still am." He paused, wetting his lips, trying to pick the right words from the air.

The air was so pure here it hurt Rukia to breathe; but who was she trying to kid?

Sinners didn't need to breathe.

She couldn't stomach the _everything_ that Miyako embodied. Kaien loved her. He loved her because Miyako had been full of stars. And what about Rukia? What was she made of?

She wriggled her toes in her sandals, watching an ant crawl across a tree root.

She would never be pure.

She was certain she was black on the inside, coated with tar. Rukia bitterly thought about going home, shutting herself in her room and ignoring Soi Fon's shouting through the door. Painting her faces with ashes; she could almost smell the grating scent of crushed charcoal. Ward off the bad spirits. Maybe paint three walls white and one wall black.

Soi Fon would kill her, but then again, who was she kidding?

Sinners didn't need to live.

"Ah, it's been so long. I feel awkward, haha…is this how it's always been? Well, I've brought you something…" he laid down the flask of sake. It clacked like dry bones on the marble.

"It's the best I could find; we went all the way to Quincy to buy it. I hope you like it." His hand found the back of his head and scratched nervously. Rukia counted. Three scratches.

"There's so much I want to tell you. Did I tell you I saw a Quincy archer shoot for the first time a week ago? They're fucking amazing!" He drew his arms into a shooting position, releasing an imaginary string. Squinting one eye shut.

"The eye on those archers! Sharper than eagles…but probably not as sharp as Rukia's lovely eyes here!" His large hands clamped on Rukia's shoulders, jostling her in front of him and closer to the tomb. "Here's my old apprentice. By the time she was five, she could probably shoot the ears off a cat standing twenty paces away! Say hello, Rukia!"

His grin dissolved any bitter feelings she harbored.

"H-hello, Miyako-san."

"'Why so shy? You've been with me to see Miyako plenty of times!"

Rukia felt her face redden; she really was painfully shy. She felt as if she was intruding on the sacred air, fouling up the sweet smell of lavender and cherry blossoms.

"Well, I need to report back soon…but I'll be back." His smile folded into a bashful smile. "I guess I feel pretty shy here, too. You were always so good to me Miyako." His hands on Rukia loosened and slipped off of her. Kaien bowed low; Rukia followed suit.

"I love you. Never forget that. Please continue to watch over me, Mi. I pray for the moment I will get to be with you again."

Rukia felt her throat constrict.

He bowed again, then turned to her.

"Let's go."

She couldn't bring herself to leave. Her feet were solid and unmovable. Tears stung her eyes. She watched his sullen form disappear down the hill. She was being cut up alive, pieces of her flesh being hung on glass hooks and being fed to crows. The pain never went away; it was a fresh wound every time they came here. She felt like she was bleeding to death.

"Why do I do this to myself," Rukia whispered, tears trailing down and slipping off her chin. She lolled her tongue out, tenderly tasting the salt. But she was too far gone; no amount of salt could cure these wounds.


	3. Chapter 3: Red Dog Bar

A/N: Sorry for not updating. Major writer's block...this chapter is very mediocre. Anyways, this story is starting to go in a completely different direction. But that's okay...it's best to let the characters write themselves, right? Well, I still have to weave together the expositionary stuff before the IchiRuki begins. I like to be thorough in these things, you know? Hope you guys are enjoying what I'm writing so far. :3 Please review...let me know if anything's awry!

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3

"What the hell do we do now?" Renji raked a hand through his russet hair.

"How about you stop talking, Renji, and help me lug him into the shed?"

"Why are we even doing this in the first place?"

"Because we feel perfectly fine with leaving an injured man to fend for himself in Rukongai."

"Very funny, _Rukia_."

"Yes, I know. Now, help me!"

"It's that damn Kuchiki blood—do you always have to order everyone aro—arghh!"

Renji Abarai rubbed his shin ruefully. "You're a damn slavedriver, Rukia."

"And you know you love me—now…do I have to repeat myself? Help me."

Rukia grabbed the man's arms while Renji propped up his long legs. The unconscious person's clothes were torn and dusty with a manner of grime. Rukia suspected blood stained the chest area of his ruined kosode. The pair hobbled off the dirt road, shuffling in the manner of a crab into the tall vegetation. Awkwardly, they shoved and kicked their way through the thick vegetation until a flimsy, wooden shack was in sight.

"Flies e'erywhere! This place is just as bad as when we came here fifty years ago! Damn flies, stop buzzing around me? You're every bit just as bad as Rukia!" Renji ducked his head about wildly, trying to wipe perspiration off of his brow and avoid the insects.

"Renji, stop that! You're going to make me drop him!"

"Rukia, he's probably dead! Just look at that sword wound! It ran him clean thru'." Renji halted, releasing one of the legs to swat at an offending fly.

"Renji!"

"Fine," he grumbled, his tattooed forehead wrinkling in disgust as he slugged through the foul-smelling mud.

When they reached the shack, Rukia lifted the wooden plank on the door, holding it open for Renji to heave the man inside.

"You could've done that more gently," she remarked cynically, disappearing into the dilapidated, wooden structure. Renji rolled his eyes. When he stepped inside the musty-smelling shack, he saw Rukia kneel next to the man, her small and slender hand against the unconscious person's forehead. Renji gave the guy a once over, noting the lack of footwear up to the flare of dirty, orange hair on his head.

"Weird-ass hair."

"You shouldn't be talking, Renji."

He huffed at the statement, bristling and running a hand through his own hair defensively.

Rukia proceeded to rip off strips of fabric from her sleeves, ducking outside to retrieve armfuls of long, snaking grass. She tied them into bundles, propped them under the man's head.

"Let's leave him some water and food."

Renji's brow furrowed further as he pulled out his canteen and a clam shell from his travel bag. "How will we explain the missing food?"

Rukia snorted, picking out two rice-balls wrapped in seaweed from her own bag, "They won't care if we're missing food. We can always say we got hungry."

"On a half day trip to Rukongai?"

"You're a growing boy, Renji, you need your nutrition."

He huffed again.

They laid the water and food next to the man's side, then stood and looked at him once again. Rukia felt a blush creep up on her face; she wondered how she would feel if she knew strangers were staring at her while she slept. She knelt. Her hands found his face again, tracing the sharp jut of his jaw-line, gliding over his forehead, wiping away perspiration and feeling for fever. Pale fingertips, like porcelain birds, fluttered over high cheekbones, dark lashes; his furrowed brows.

Renji leaned over her, peering at the stranger with a critical eye.

"How old do ya think he is?"

"Can't be that much younger than us…maybe ninety years?"

"Hmph."

"Stop huffing. You're going to sound like Kenpachi if you keep ruining your voice like that."

Rukia drew her legs up to her chest, wrapping her arms around her knees. Renji sat down next to her, crossing and tucking his long legs underneath him.

They sat in silence for a few moments. The air hung gloomily over the small shack. Dark clouds roiled and blew across the sky.

The treetops, heavy and the wet, mossy green color of early springtime, rustled anxiously, like ancient birds begging to take off into flight.

Rukia was aware of all of these occurrences without once looking out the window; it was all second nature to her. The quivering of the grass and the humming of distant lightning were ingrained into her senses—her bones, her flesh. It was as if she was a child of nature, raised in the midst of a hurricane; the kind that lashed and goaded trees into furious dances and whipped the sea into a frenzy and brought it crashing onto the shore in brilliant bursts of foam and sand. She was wild. She was uncontained when she chose to expose herself, her barriers split and showing white like virgin wood struck by lightning.

Renji could sense this now, the way she was so tranquil and still. This was her time; she was reading the air. Her fingers curled on her thighs. Outside, the thunder echoed, drumming steadily against the horizon.

It resembled a heartbeat, and they both could hear the storm loom closer, pounding louder and louder in their ears, filling them with the cacophony of stirring wind and splintering sky. Then, as Rukia unfolded herself and brought the man's head in her lap, the rain began to fall.

* * *

The air was considerably cooler by the time they ventured outside of the shack.

The sun was setting, painting the sky in hues of coral and violet. A manner of insects and frogs chirped and croaked about them, hidden amidst the sea of tall grass.

Hoisting her travelling bag over her shoulder, Rukia was the first to step through the quagmire of flattened plants and mud. When her feet found the familiar, dirt road, she stopped to look back. The wall of vegetation was motionless, save for the few disturbances brought on by the restlessness of the wind. But Rukia could not stop thinking about the man; in her mind, she was still running her fingers over his familiar face and fiery hair.

Briefly, before she turned to go, she wondered what shade his eyes would be if he had opened them.

It was nightfall when the pair reached streets were near empty but still filled with the aromas of the daytime bazaar. There was the scent of foreigners, of their strange perfumes wreathing the air like snakes. She could smell money, rusty coins in the wrinkled palms of fortune tellers. She could smell crops from distant lands, so fresh one could taste the sediment in the flesh of the fruit.

She could smell spices, tangy and dancing on her palate. And she was reminded of her growling stomach. Beside her, Renji's stomach grumbled loudly. He gave her an ill-mannered look, "We'd still have food if we hadn't given that guy half of our shit!"

Rukia resisted the urge to sigh in exasperation; he was right, after all. She was far too sympathetic at times. But the man; he had looked so helpless and troubled laying there. She couldn't help but feel her heart moved by his pitiful state. Such a strong soul. Such a young soul. There was something about him that she couldn't shake.

He made her want to protect him; cradle his head in her lap forever. She had never felt such a calm, feeling his weight resting comfortably in her arms, listening to the rain hiss and spatter on the lightning, leaping through the sky like a tiger, ripping the sky to pieces with its claws.

Renji was starting saying something besides her; she caught only the latter half of his sentence, "—how 'bout that place over there?"

"What?"

"Damn it, Rukia! You weren't listening to me, were you?"

Rukia rolled her eyes, ignoring his question and striding purposefully towards the bar Renji had pointed out. She had a good idea of what he was suggesting. He rushed to follow her, his warajis slapping angrily on the packed, dirt pavement.

* * *

The bar was red. Everything about it was red; the silk covers hanging over the windows, the red Buddhas and red candles—the red incense sticks smoldering and releasing a thick, hot aroma.

The red tablecloth, the rich tapestries woven with gold threads, the paintings with dragons the color of blood, warring against each other amidst fiery, blazing suns.

Even the chairs were red, fashioned out of a wood that was polished to a vermillion sheen.

Rukia leaned over the bar counter, looking at her reflection. Dark eye circled persisted under her large, almond-shaped eyes.

Her hair was mussed, wild and sprawling out of her ponytail. She quickly re-adjusted herself, pulling out the ribbon and re-tying her hair. After deeming herself presentable, Rukia straightened, letting an icy composure settle over her features.

"We'd like to work for food here," she spoke in a humble, yet assertive tone to the man behind the counter.

He stared at the ragged pair, running his bright blue eyes down their dusty kosodes to their patched warajis. He turned to ring a bell on the shelf behind him, his movements quick, fluid and practical like the spokes of a wheel.

A large man appeared from what Rukia assumed was the kitchen. His hair was wrapped into a green headband, a vicious scar marring his left eyebrow. He approached in the manner of a proud and arrogant noble, confident in his commandments. His voice, when he spoke, was low and rough, like the bark of a wild dog.

"Ganju here. What's goin' on?"

"Some people willing to work to fill their stomachs."

"Ahh…is that so?"

The man named Ganju flashed Renji and Rukia a hard look. He flexed his arm muscles, cracked his neck. A dog strutting his preliminaries before a fight.

"What have ya got to offer?"

Rukia bowed to him, prodding Renji to the do the same. He stiffened, refusing to respect the cocky bar owner. She yanked on his arm, tugging him down.

As she straightened herself, she cleared her throat, and proceeded to answer in a sweet and light tone, "I can make a few dishes, and Renji, here, can help with the catering."

Ganju set his hands on his hips, turning to view the entire bar, the tables and the patrons leaning over their meals. His eyes darted back, rich and welcoming.

"Well, it _is_ a full house. Come on in."

Renji rolled his eyes, evoking a jab in the side from Rukia.

They followed Ganju past the meticulously kept bar into the kitchen.


	4. Chapter 4: Where The Staircase Leads

A/N: Oh gosh, I'm incredibly sorry for this late update! School was hectic, I was helping with putting on a musical, there was so much homework... I'm going to stop with the excuses and let you guys read now!

* * *

4

Rukia frowned at her attire. The shoes and apron were ridiculously big, uncomfortable and ungainly on her petite frame. To make matters worse, she was rinsing a frozen chicken in the sink. She made quite the comic sight. Besides her, Renji suppressed a snort of amusement. She shot him a dirty glare. "Get back to washing the dishes ," she muttered, slipping a bandana over her hair.

"Aye aye, Cap'n Rukia!"

She idly contemplated beating him with the frozen chicken.

Ganju's grizzled head popped into the kitchen, surveying the pair through the lime green goggles he had donned. Rukia suspected he was slightly drunk.

"Wonderful job, keep it up!"

Renji held up a whisk, holding it so he could inspect it underneath the dim lights of the lanterns strung up on the ceiling.

"This place is so fucking dark…we're going to chop off our fingers or sumpthin'…" he growled, when he couldn't determine the type of utencil he was holding.

Ganju smirked at him, "That's why we have twelve of 'em!"

Renji shot him a glare, "That's incredibly stupid, even for you!"

* * *

Business had quieted down; once the last customers had been ushered out the door, they sat outside, the men lighting up their cigars. Rukia turned her head in disgust, trying not to inhale the viscous smoke. It clung to the inside of her lungs and made her feel like there were snakes in her belly. Renji sniffed at his appreciatively, "All the way from Espada, eh? Shit town, but they got the best of smokes."

"Don't forget about the women," grinned Ganju, laughing at his own joke. Renji pulled a face.

Rukia stared up at the stars, the sky a shimmering, black void. It reminded her of a panther's sleek pelt, stalking amidst the forest, blending in with the shadows of the night. Using her eyes, she tried to trace the constellations. She wondered if Kaien was staring up at the very same embroidery of stars, trying to find Andromeda. Or Draco. Maybe Orion and his belt.

"How you doin', Rukia?" Ganju playfully shook her shoulder. She was jolted back to their conversation, "Oh, ah…sorry, I didn't hear what you were asking."

"She does that a lot," Renji grumbled, opening his mouth to let a ring of smoke puff out.

"Rukia, ya sure you don't want one?" Ganju indicated the glowing eye of the cigar in his mouth.

"No. I don't like the stuff very much."

"Well, that's certainly a pity! But I wagered a maiden like yourself wouldn't like to smoke. My sister, on the other hand, was born with a cigar in her fingers. Could hold down her drinks, too. Damn stomach of steel."

He blew out another ring. He poked his finger through the middle, bringing it up and out so that the circle was severed and twisted into a silvery snake.

"Anything on your mind? Seems to be something on your tongue."

"For a drunk, you're awfully perceptive," came Renji's low mutter.

Rukia bit her lower lip.

The crickets were loud in the still, night air.

"I don't really want to talk about it."

"'Tis okay—"

"But…"

Rukia's fingers clenched in her lap, bunching up the fabric of her apron. The men watched her silently.

"Why are there these feelings overflowing in me? It makes sense that I should feel emptiness, especially after my sister's gone, but still…"

Ganju looked away. Renji held his breath.

The lady-like eye of the moon blinked, lashes slow and gentle.

"Lately, it's been bothering me…why my sister died. She was so young and so strong. At first, no-one could figure it out. I thought it was Nii-sama's fault. He was always so strict and cold whenever I saw him…but now, I realize that she brought the only warmth to his life."

Her eyes were dry; no tears fell. A cloud had covered the stars.

"I have determined that it was my fault. My fault—all along. I'm a disgusting wretch. I should just stay on the streets, where I belong, be cast out like trash."

"What happened?"

She peered at Ganju, who rested his chin on his knuckles, gaze intent on her. Her lips pressed into a thin line, eyes cold as an angry sea.

"I…I--"

Her throat was closing, her mind racing and desperate, wanting to snatch back the words that had made their way out in the open air. _When will the truth out? _

Ganju nodded, interrupting her conflicting thoughts, "Don't worry about it. When you are ready to talk, you will talk."

Besides him, Renji took the cigar out of his mouth and held it on the sun-warmed wood, palm down, crushing and burning a ring into the porch.

The trio sat in silence, listening to the summer concert of the crickets and the pulsing night sky. It was beautiful and miserable in its dark little way; the hanging sadness of Rukia's past clung to her, a shroud hanging, tattered, on her shoulders. When Ganju and Renji left to finish washing the dishes, Rukia leaned over, grabbed the neck of the bottle of sake Ganju had left. She lifted, tilted, drank. She let the alcohol burn liquid fire down her throat.

"I want to forget," came her small reply, her wishes addressed to no-one. She curled up into herself, draping her arms and head over her knees, and closed her eyes. One by one, her barriers rose.

* * *

The ceiling of the shack, Ichigo Kurosaki decided, was unpleasant. The previous day's rain had soaked through the thatched roof and fell at irregular intervals, occasionally hitting him in the face.

Though inside the secluded structure, he could feel the wind picking up outside, brushing like a lonely cat against the wood. He wondered what time it was, and what had given him a throbbing headache and a heavy pressure against his chest. Slowly, in the way that sick men move, he sat himself upright, blinking the last of sleep out of his eyes. Ichigo became aware of three things.

One, night had fallen, judging from the darkness outside.

Two, there was food sitting next to him in neat little clam-shells.

Three, he was half-naked. At the realization of the third fact, he didn't know whether to feel grateful or uneasy.

Peering around for any signs of the benevolent stranger or strangers, he ran his calloused fingers across his chest. Where there was once a flaming, angry wound now resided clean, linen bandages. While his fingers continued to pitter-patter across the linen, very much like the dripping of the wet roof, his mind wandered. He recalled; the gentle yet fierce eyes of the woman—his dream. She was an ice sculpture, her lips pale and unsmiling, her cheekbones high and polished as an ebony bow. He thought perhaps if he had touched her, held her chin with his fingers so that their gazes met, his insides would have sparked into a storm of wonderful things, the snow falling. She never said anything, she just held him in her lap and looked down at him with those soulful eyes of hers. He wanted to find her, but he knew she was long gone. A pleasant dream; nothing more.

That was the way with many things in his life

. He lolled his tongue out, feeling the split in his lower lip. Although his chest and head hurt, and his hands were mottled black and blue, he couldn't help but feel strong.

He had stopped running, something he should have done a long time ago, and faced his past. It was what his mother would have wanted—but now she was gone.

Sullen, Ichigo turned to the food, picking the cold rice up in his fingers and eating it grain by grain. A calm now upon him, Ichigo listened to the summer songs humming around him.

* * *

Rukia stared at the flight of stairs. The mahogany wood gleamed, smiling back at her.

Her arms and shoulders sore, she heaved a sigh, taking a step forward and hauling up the heavy pail of soapy water and mop. When she reached the second floor, what she first noticed was the difference in colors.

Where the first floor of the Red Dog Bar had been blooming and blushing with furious tones of red, the second floor was painted with serene shades of blue. The walls were of a dark-chocolate wood, covered with china sculptures that were painted with dancing horses and elephants.

The lavish indigo rug beneath her feet led down the hallway, which was nothing but wall and animal china and dimly lit lanterns giving off a milky cerulean glow.

To her surprise, when Rukia looked up, she found the ceiling adorned with an elaborate mirror. Silver Cherubs smiled down at her, holding parchments in their small hands, adorned with crowns of thorns and roses.

"It's fucking weird, isn't it?" Renji's gravelly voice came from behind her, startling her so that she knocked over the pail of water. It pooled over the carpet, covering it like an ocean floor.

"_Renji_!"

"What?"

Rukia wanted to disembowel the tall man leaning over her with a confused expression on his thin face.

"You scared me!"

"'S not my fault."

"You could've said something when you were coming up the stairs."

Renji gruffly exhaled, pushing past her and taking the towel that was slung over his shoulder. He dabbed at the spill, succeeding in producing foamy circles.

"Sorry…I guess. What are you doing up here anyway?"

"I was supposed to wash the boarding room floors, but half the water in this thing has been spilt." She stood up, glaring at the unfortunate man below her. "Renji, go get more water."

He looked up at her incredulously.

"Why?"

"Because you were the sole cause of this mess. And because I said so."

"Well, if you were paying attention, you would've noticed me coming up!"

"Not true. Now get a move on."

Renji grumbled, lifting the pail and swinging it about precariously as he lumbered down the stairs.

Rukia turned her face upwards to admire the mirror again. It was awfully gorgeous, the way the light and the mirror produced a soft, translucent sheen to her face instead of a sickly glow. She ventured forward towards the door at the end of the hallway. It was fashioned out of the same dark, solid wood as the paneling of wood on the walls. A gold plate read, "Welcome to the Blue Dog Inn."

Rukia's lips twisted; couldn't Ganju have been more creative when he named his establishments? She pushed on the door, the hinges creaking as she stepped gingerly into the dark room.

The floor was a deep, dark black, the woven carpet the color of the sky throbbing with the pulse of a great storm. Rukia let her eyes adjust, making out the various shapes that cluttered the room.

Her fingers roved about her apron pocket, finding a match and striking it against a piece of flint. She lit the nearest fire sconce hanging up on the wall. The room was heavily incensed, like someone had dragged Oriental scarves of perfume, dogwood and lilac, through the air. A bed, with posts carved into winding serpents, and pillows with lacy, cobalt casings, stood next to a shuttered window.

Interestingly enough, there was no elaborate art adorning the walls, just merely the serpentine bed and pillows and rug below her feet. Another doorway called her attention from across the room.

Curiosity rising within her, Rukia abandoned her mop, slippered feet moving soundlessly and swiftly, a cat's velvet gait. Her fingers tingled at the coldness of the brass doorknob, she pushed the door open slowly, the hinges quiet and obediently staying silent.

A spiral staircase greeted her view. An unseen window high above had let the moonlight in. It cast a silky azul haze over the entirety of stairs. There was a shaft of crisp, silvery blue light, the slow waltz of dust motes. Rukia heard Renji heading up to the second floor. She backed out, closing the door with a sharp, short motion and moved back to her cleaning tool. Ganju had informed them that the inn they were cleaning was a, 'shoddy room wit' nothin' innit. The better rooms are beyond the door. You're not allow'd to go up those stairs, got it?"

Which, she realized with a chill, raised the question of why the door was unlocked.


	5. Chapter 5: Leaving

5

* * *

"I have decided that apprentices—" Soi Fon poured herself the rest of the sake bottle, lifting her cigar from her lips to take a swig, "are the worst."

She puffed on the cigar, disgruntled, hair ruffled like cat who had woken up the wrong way. Not that cats could wake up the right way, but Soi Fon was, at the moment, so ultimately frustrated and disturbed that such logic could not worry her.

"I sent them to Rukongai two days ago and they're still gone. Can we send out the cavalry or somethin'? Damn bastards probably being lazy and partying it up."

Ukitake folded his hands into his sleeves, closing his eyes with a gentle exhale as he chided, "Soi Fon, I have already assured you…Rukia would not do such a thing. You, on the other hand, might partake in such festivities, but that is no reason to accuse your apprentice of such a thing."

"Renji was with her, he's not exactly angelic, is he?"

Kyoraku palmed his hat, laying it on the table of the bar and spinning it with a knobbly finger, "Lad's too stupid to even get into a place like that."

Soi Fon huffed, slamming her elbow on the bar and nearly upsetting several wine glasses.

"I'm on a schedule, do they not fucking know that?" Her eyes were watery and red with fury.

"Now, now, I am sure that they will arrive tonight. Perhaps they had some urgent business of their own to uphold. They did come from that district, after all."

"I don't give a rat's ass about their personal lives…all I know is that Rukia promised to devote her life to me to become my apprentice."

She leaned back on her stool, bare feet and wriggling toes curling around the rungs so tightly one could easily imagine them breaking. Her arm flailed about in extravagant motions, her cigar darting up and down like a fishing line, "If they don't make it back by sunset, I'm lookin' for them!"

Kyoraku watched the whirling straw cone of his hat, grey eyes pondering at something within, "You're worried about them, aren't you Soi Fon?"

Ukitake's face creased into a gentle smile, he looked over to Soi Fon. She stood up quickly, back towards them.

"Am not."

"You say these things about your contract, and their oath as apprentices to you. What things are these, but the small things…you really do care for them. That's a good thing, Soi Fon."

She jerked the stool back with a backwards kick from her foot, stalking out of the bar. She pulled back the flaps violently, raising dust.

"Sunset." was all she merely said, before rushing out into the busy street.

Kyoraku sighed, leaning back in his chair, "Should we go, Jushiro?"

The white-haired man nodded, moving for the door.

* * *

The surroundings were unfamiliar. The greens were too green, and the sky was a broken pastel-blue cake of creamy clouds and trailing lattices of sunshine.

Ichigo felt his chest wound throb with every step. Carefully, he shifted his weight so that he was walking on this toes, sliding and shuffling an awkward trail on the dust road. He knew it was stupid, that at any moment, his enemies could ambush him. That the hunters following his prints were laughing at him, baring their blood-stained teeth.

But he was stubborn; resilient.

Ichigo remembered passing through the town of Rukongai, the jagged teeth of wooden fences, the doors that closed amidst whispers. There, he could find him. Someone by the name of Ganju. His friend, she was always laughing about him, how special a person was he, the how's and why's of him that could never be explained. Something about being soft on the inside, he wasn't too sure, he never listened closely enough to remember anything. And now they were gone.

_Why didn't I listen when I had the chance?_

Ichigo hit a rock, his steps faltering as he stumbled off the path into a thicket. Mentally, he berated himself for his clumsiness. He looked up, trying to ignore the prickling sensations of thorns snagging on him. The sun gleamed down at him, the white-hot of afternoon hours. He had approximately six hours to get to Karakura before evening set in and he was vulnerable.

He pulled himself free, breath hot and panting. Everything was gone to shit…there was no hope…why couldn't he just throw himself down in the dust?

For some inexplicable reason, he stood standing, feeling the draw of Rukongai. Someone was waiting for him; he couldn't give up now.

Ichigo looked around for a walking stick, settling for a fallen, yet sturdy tree limb. He propped himself up. If only his friends could see him now. The cocky, obstinate Ichigo Kurosaki, limping his way to a shanty-town. His memories grew stronger, more pronounced with every step he took. Soon, his head was filled with voices, the flickering of his past whirring about on a film reel, his brain a Nickelodeon. He remembered his talks with Ikkaku, his friend who loved fights, good sake, and women with scars. _Doesn't it turn you on, _Ikkaku had said when they were sitting on the dojo's shingled rooftop, _when a lady's got sumptin' on her from a fight? Shows you that she's tough, and she'll fight for what she believes in._

Ichigo remembered looking up at the evening sky, the pearly clouds awash in amber light. It was like looking through colored glass.

_Yeah, Madarame. I guess so._

And Ikkaku had passed him his canteen of sake.

_Drink deep. _

Ichigo stopped to lean against a tree. Something was wet on his face. He couldn't see so clearly anymore.

* * *

"We'll be leaving now!" Rukia waved at Ganju, her travel bag satisfyingly full and heavy against her shoulder.

"Thanks fer all the help, Kuchiki-san! You too, Abarai! The both of you better come visit sometime, ya hear?"

Renji scuffed at the dirt with his feet, unused to goodbyes. He was used to abrupt, violent partings. The peace and happiness unsettled him. He straightened, looking Ganju in the eyes, "Thanks for everythin', Shiba."

Rukia smiled, her face soft in the sunshine, eyes sparkling, "Thank you for your kindness!"

The pair bowed in unison. Ganju roared with laughter, waving his hand at them, "That's enuff' now! You best be off now, or else night will fall and I can't be doin' nothin' for you guys!"

The portly man winked at them before ducked back into the bar.

Renji and Rukia stood still for a few minutes, looking at the Red Dog Bar, memorizing the sight of it in midday. The gold lions and Buddhas, the red wood paneling of the walls. It stood out in stark contrast from the rest of Rukongai. Besides the bar, children squatted in the dirt, drawing circles in the dirt with a circle. The houses were gaunt, creaking under the weight of tin and straw roofs.

"Makes you wonder why no-one's mobbed it yet." Renji muttered, turning on his heels and starting towards the exit gate.

Rukia was slow to follow, walking with careful, measured steps, staring at the spiraling rooftops of the Blue Dog Inn on top of the bar.

"That's true. Do you really think he makes that much money off of his customers? We were there for only two days, but still…" Rukia's mind flitted back to her discovery of the stairwell.

"There really aren't many people that can afford that kind of stuff," Renji commented as they neared the iron gate. They pushed their way out, the hinges screeching, the sunshine nauseatingly bright, the air hot and dusty. Here, in the open country, the road was marked by countless footsteps, the dirt hard and granulated.

Renji continued his train of thought, "Most of them were just royalty passing through on their way to Seireitei. It's suspicious, alright."

"Suspicious," Rukia repeated, her lips barely moving. The wind was impossibly dry, sucking the moisture out of her lungs when she breathed.

"Do you think he's operating something, Renji?"

"Whaddaya mean?"

"He's a nice man and everything…but." She turned to look back. The bar/inn was still visible, sunlight gleaming off of the windows as if it was an immense, glass dream-catcher.

"Maybe he's getting funded by the nobility to keep an eye on everyone in Rukongai."

Renji snorted, "Why would they want to do that? It's a shit town, what would Seireitei want to have to do wit' people like them?"

"I don't know," Rukia admitted.

They entered the welcome shade of trees, the foliage dappling the path with moving shadows.

"Soi Fon's going to kill me," Rukia sighed, swinging her travel bag by its string in lazy circles.

"Byakuya's going to skin me," Renji muttered, thrusting his hands into his pockets.

They were quiet, letting the sounds of nature reach them. Birds and small animals called to one another in the undergrowth. There was the quiet but constant whirring of insects darting from flower to flower.

"Do you think he's alright?" Rukia said after some time.

Renji kicked at a pebble, raising a cloud of dust.

"Who?" he frowned.

"That man we left in the shack."

"What, are you going to go check on him or somethin'?"

"Can we?"

"Rukia! We're already two days late, our masters are going to rip off our fucking heads and you want to go on a wild goose-chase to find some guy we don't eve know?"

"Yeah, but,"

"Don't be stupid. Huh, why am I chastising you like this? That's usually your job." He grabbed her hands, hauling her along as he doubled their pace, "For now, we have to worry about getting back." He shifted the travel bag on his back for further emphasis, "Our Divisions are counting on us. Okay?"

Rukia tugged, resisted, "Soi Fon's been my master for nearly three years and she's never let me touch anything in our Division."

"You guys are working with chemicals, of course she ain't lettin' you touch shit that's dangerous as that!"

"I know, but still—three years!"

Renji sighed, irritated by the heat and Rukia's stubborn manners, but relieved that he had gotten her off subject about the orange-haired man. For some reason, that person gave him a weird feeling; sent shivers up his spine. He clasped Rukia's hand tighter, feeling as if she was being pulled away from him by some unnatural force. That he was about to lose her soon; forever.


	6. Author's Note

To my dear reviewers/followers,

I am so sorry for the long hiatus I have placed on all my stories. Part of the reason lay in my busy schedule/days. But most the reason is because I'm ashamed of what I've written thus far. I feel like I've cobbled together some fantasy world that doesn't make any sense [in both Oh! and Noblesse Oblige] and I'm too embarrassed to go back and re-read and re-edit and make things right. I feel like I've disappointed many people, including myself, with my sloppy plot and writings.

So now, I'm ready to face those demons. I'm ready to take apart my stories and reassemble them so that you, my wonderful readers, will be able to get lost in the world I create for you.

Again, I apologize for giving you less than 100%. I promise that I will be re-posting Noblesse Oblige/Oh! within a week. Please subscribe to my account so you can get updates on when the new versions come out!

Love,

Brokenx3Dreams


	7. I'm Back!

Dear Readers,

I am incredibly sorry for my hiatus. This note is just to let you guys know that I am not dead, and I don't plan on going away any time soon! These past few months of absence have seen me battling multiple eating disorders [bulimia, prominently] depression, borderline personality disorder, and stupid school drama. So, understandably, I haven't had the energy or mindset to write in quite some time, but now, I feel the urge to get back into fanfiction writing once more. My eating disorder (s) have plagued me for a long time, and after a few close calls and the obvious signs my body has given me, I have decided to recover. I have tried recovering countless times, each leading to a worse relapse, but this time, for sure, I know I am going to try my hardest to live again. I have so many stories to share with you all, and I can't wait to share my writing on here again. Look forward to me re-publishing my stories in a few weeks, as I will definitely have more time and energy to write

Sincerely,

Brokenx3Dreams


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